Looking grim, Leeds was saying, “I have worked very hard for many years to make certain that this state’s gaming industry is free of any criminal activity.”

One of the old men in the library hooted with derision.

“And my opponent’s attempts to smear me are actually thinly veiled attacks on the Native Americans in our state, loyal, hard-working men and women whose major source of income is from the state’s five licensed gaming casinos.”

Raising one finger in the air, Leeds added, “Now, I’m not accusing my opponent of racism. But his reckless attempts to smear me are harming our state’s Native American population!”

“The racism card,” muttered the old man sitting closest to Jake.

Dead silence among the reporters in the ballroom. Leeds glowered down at them from the lectern, then half turned toward the FBI chief once again.

“And now Ms. Quintero will give you the details of the FBI’s investigation.”

Tomlinson Senior clapped his hands together loudly. “The last act of a desperate man,” he announced.

Jake wasn’t so certain.

Election Day

ELECTION DAY

It was snowing again. As Jake walked from his campus parking spot toward his office a gentle snow sifted down from the gray clouds overhead. It wasn’t particularly cold and there was hardly any wind. Not enough snow to call off school for the day, Jake thought. Not enough for kids to go sledding.

“Jake! Wait up!”

Turning, he saw Amy Wexler hurrying toward him, bundled in a quilted parka, but bareheaded, her thick honey-blond hair bouncing off her shoulders as she jogged along the brick walkway.

“Hello, Amy,” he said guardedly.

“Do you think this snow will keep people away from the polling places?” Amy asked, puffing slightly as she fell into step alongside him.

He shrugged. “Doesn’t look like much. I guess not.”

“Too bad,” she said.

Jake pushed the door to the astronomy building open, asking, “Too bad?”

“Leeds has a lot of voting blocs lined up,” Amy explained. “Those union people, they go through neighborhoods and drive people to the voting booths. Bad weather keeps the vote down. That could be good for us.”

“Won’t it keep our vote down, too?” He started up the concrete steps, with Amy beside him.

“It works better for the underdog,” she said, her voice echoing slightly off the bare walls.

“We’re not the underdog.”

“Yes, we are,” Amy insisted. “As far as delivering organized blocs of voters is concerned, Leeds is way ahead of us.”

He led Amy down the corridor to his office, unlocked the door, and ushered her into the cluttered little room.

“I thought we were ahead,” Jake said, pulling off his fleece-lined car coat.

“It ain’t over till it’s over,” Amy said.

“Yogi Berra,” said Jake. “Great political philosopher.”